Short story: The drumbeat of the opening ceremony

1.

The golden September sunshine filtered through the fallen leaves of the banyan trees on the schoolyard. The chirping of cicadas in late autumn seemed to linger on the days of summer. On the wooden platform in the middle of the yard, the dark red school drum lay still, waiting for someone to strike the opening sounds of a new year.

In the teacher’s chair, Mr. Tu - with silver hair and a tall, thin figure - looked around the rows of students in class 10A1, his new homeroom class. This class… was truly a “mixed pot”: Tuan “Rom” was tall and lanky, with dark skin, loved soccer more than Math; Hanh “Ngo” was rustic, with round eyes, every sentence was funny and honest; and especially… Khang - a new transfer student, with light brown dyed hair, his shirt never buttoned enough.
In just the first week, Khang had already become a "phenomenon" of the school - in a bad sense: skipping class, smoking, even fighting.
On the second day of the third week, Mr. Tu called Khang to the board.
- I do this exercise.
Khang crossed his arms, his mouth slightly curled:
- I won't do it. This exercise is… meaningless.
The whole class held their breath. Skinny Tuan lightly kicked Hanh “silly” under the table, his eyes shining as if waiting to see a good show. But the teacher didn’t yell. He just turned the chalk and wrote another, shorter piece:
- What about this one? If you do it right, I won't ask anymore.
Khang took the chalk, wrote scribbles, finished. Right.
- Good. Then the other one isn't that difficult.
He hesitated, then bent down and continued writing. Both were correct.
Khang stepped away from the board, feeling a little… unbalanced. He had mentally prepared himself for a scolding, just like when he was in the lower grades. Back then, just because he forgot his notebook, the teacher made him stand in front of the class and read a humiliating apology. The feeling of being humiliated made Khang angry and said rude words. The result: He was suspended from school for a week, his parents were called to school, his friends avoided him, and people competed to “expose” him online. That spiral pushed him further away from school.
But today, this teacher… just nodded and smiled slightly. For the first time in many months, Khang felt a bit… confused.

2.

One afternoon, about to rain, the wind was blowing dust, Mr. Tu drove his daughter home after extra classes. Seeing Khang standing by the coffee shop, his shirt wet from the rain, his cheek bruised, he stopped the car:
- Come here, I'll take you home.
- No need. - He bowed his head.
- Need it or not, it's up to me.
Khang’s house was at the end of a winding alley, the walls were covered in moss, and there was a damp smell from the puddles that never dried. The street lights had burned out long ago, leaving only a faint yellow light coming from a small window the size of a mirror.
Grandma lay curled up on the bamboo bed, coughing intermittently. In the corner of the room, a frayed cotton blanket was neatly folded. There was no one else in sight.
Khang's father is serving a sentence. His mother left when he was eight years old. He does all the housework, from cooking, washing clothes, to taking his grandmother to the clinic.
Mr. Tu did not ask anything. He just bent down to the basket and took out a package of bread and a bottle of warm milk - the food his daughter had not had this morning.
- You eat.
Khang paused for a moment, then took it. But his eyes looked away, as if afraid someone would see his weakness.
The teacher sat down on the doorstep, not saying another word. There was only the sound of her coughing, and the sound of a cat tapping its paw on an empty bamboo tube somewhere.
A long while later, Khang quickly wiped away the hot, wet drops of water on his cheeks. His voice choked:
- My dad… is not a bad person, teacher.
The words fell like a pebble into the water, followed by other waves.
That year, the family was so poor that during meals, she had to give her portion of the thin soup to her brothers. Father loved his son so much that he decided to go to the faraway forest. He caught an animal - gentle looking, with silky fur. Father did not know that this species was in the Red Book. He brought it home and cared for it until it reproduced. A few years later, Father raised a herd and sold it to earn money for Khang and his brothers to study.
Then one day, the police came. They read the indictment for “trafficking in rare animals” and sentenced my father to six years in prison.
Many people in the village felt sorry for him, saying, “He doesn’t know, he just wants to take care of his son.” But there were also other looks – colder, heavier – as if the father and son had just committed a terrible sin that could not be undone. Whispers and sarcastic remarks echoed right behind him.
Khang's mother could not bear it anymore. She left the village, no one knew where she went. That back figure disappeared from then on.
The story stopped, only the sound of the wall fan was left and Mr. Tu's eyes were still calm, not interrupting or awkwardly interjecting words of comfort.
The teacher just gently pushed the bread package a little more towards Khang, as if to say: Eat it, before it gets cold.

3.

The next morning, Khang came to class earlier than usual. He didn't say anything. But in his eyes, the teacher noticed that a certain corner was less rough.
Half a semester passed. Skinny Tuan was less mischievous, silly Hanh was more courageous, and Khang stopped skipping classes. The whole class was gossiping: “Mr. Tu has magic.”
Then the school launched a photo contest "Schoolyard in my eyes". The whole class was excited, except for Khang who hesitated:
- I… don't have a camera.
- I have a camera. But you have to take the pictures yourself. - The teacher said, his voice as if he was throwing a ball towards him.
Khang's photo won first prize: Schoolyard at dawn, dew drops trembling on leaves, in the distance is the shadow of a man wiping the board. Photo caption: The person who wakes us up in the morning.
On graduation day, when the last drum of the school year rang, Khang stepped onto the stage, holding a bundle of newspapers in his hand.
- Teacher… let me send it.
Inside was an old watch with a frayed leather strap.
- My dad's. He said a good man knows how to keep time… and keep his promises.
Mr. Tu took it. At that moment, the sound of the school drum not only signaled the end of the ceremony, but also opened a new school year - not only for the students, but also for the teacher.
On the way back, the teacher stopped to buy a bunch of yellow chrysanthemums. Ms. Thao looked at it and jokingly asked:
- Got a gift from your student again?
- Yes… but this gift, I will keep it for life.
The old clock was placed solemnly on the desk, next to the pile of lesson plans. The hands were still ticking, slow and steady like the beat of a teacher's heart. And somewhere in the small town, there was a dyed-haired student, learning to keep his first promise.

4.

On Friday afternoon, the school yard ended with the cheers of students preparing for the weekend. The wind carried the scent of milk flowers into every corner of the classroom. Khang packed his bag slowly, intending to stop by Mr. Tu's room to ask for help.
Just out the gate, he heard a familiar whistle. Three old friends - dyed hair, ripped jeans - were leaning against a motorbike, laughing loudly.
- Long time no see, thought you forgot about us! - A guy patted Khang on the shoulder. - Let's go, we just found a "fun" place.
He hesitated. In the past, such calls were a summons. But now… he remembered the bag of guavas his grandmother had asked him to bring to his teacher, the math notebook with unfinished exercises, and the look in Mr. Tu’s eyes that morning.
- I'm… busy. - Khang said softly.
- Busy with what? - The red-haired guy sneered. - Studying? Don't tell me you're planning on being a "nerd"?
The teasing touched his stubborn ego. For a second, he almost let out his usual gruff remark. But then… Mr. Tu’s voice echoed somewhere in his head: “No one stays ignorant forever if they study. But before studying Math, you must learn to believe in yourself first.”
Khang took a breath.
- Yes, I'm busy studying.
Without waiting for them to say more, he turned and walked quickly towards the teacher's room.
In the room, Mr. Tu was grading papers. Hearing hurried footsteps in the hallway, he looked up. Khang was standing there, breathing heavily, sweating profusely.
- Teacher… I didn't understand this part of yesterday's lesson. Can you explain it to me again?
Teacher Tu said nothing, just nodded slightly. But in his eyes, Khang saw something sparkling like an “acknowledged” sign sent straight to his heart.
Outside, the sound of motorbikes and the laughter of old friends gradually faded away into the weekend afternoon.

5.

The school yard was filled with flags and flowers on the opening day. The MC invited the 10th grade representative to give a speech. From the back row, Khang stood up. His white shirt was neat, his shoes were clean and shiny, he stepped onto the podium with a rare maturity in a boy of only fifteen.
Khang's voice rang out, initially a bit shaky:
- I used to think… school wasn’t for me. But then, I met a teacher who not only taught me knowledge, but also taught me to believe in myself…
Below, Tuan "skinny" rested his chin on his hand, eyes wide open; Hanh "silly" nodded slightly, and teacher Tu looked at his student with warm but quiet eyes.
Khang took a breath and said the last sentence:
- Today… I want to thank my grandmother, teacher, and… dad - who taught me what it means to stand up after falling.
A small commotion arose. Outside the school gate, a thin but sturdy man, wearing an old, ironed shirt, was standing still. His eyes were red but his gaze did not leave his son. He had just been paroled early for good behavior, and this morning, instead of going straight home, he came here.
A gentle breeze blew, the flag on the field fluttered. Khang saw that familiar figure through the gap between the two rows of seats. He pursed his lips, his eyes lit up. Outside, the father nodded slightly as if making a new promise, silent but certain.
The drum beat for the opening of the school year rang out, the sound flying high and then reverberating far as if touching every window, every leaf, every heartbeat in the schoolyard. In that drum beat, there was a newly kindled faith, a silent but profound forgiveness, and a new beginning, not only for the school year, but also for the father and son who were finding each other again.
The sound of the school drum - generations of students have heard the same bustling rhythm, but each person, at each moment, carries a different meaning in their hearts. For Khang, that is the sound that marks the day he turns his back on the classroom. For his father, that is a reminder that, no matter how lost, one can still find the familiar drum sound to start over.